


Take A Thief

by Kiraly



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: A pair of Irene's earrings go missing.
Relationships: Attolia | Irene/Eugenides
Comments: 29
Kudos: 106





	Take A Thief

There is something soothing, Irene finds, about dressing in the morning. Her days are made of endless choices, decisions that have the power to secure her country’s future—or destroy it. It’s comforting to start the day with easy ones. The wine-red dress, or the leaf-green? The gold-embroidered slippers, or the ones with the intricate woven colorwork? Each selection is still measured, deliberate; after all, her appearance speaks volumes to those who are sharp enough to notice such things. But it’s rare that her choice of jewelry has the power to start or end a war.

The chatter of her attendants calms her too, most of the time. They exchange bits of court gossip, thoughts on which hair ornaments go best with her gown, fashion news from the continent. She lets it wash over her as she sets her thoughts in order for the day. 

But this morning, there’s an undercurrent of worry in their talk, swift as the Aracthus in spring. Sentences cut off halfway with a whispered  _ hush!  _ and a furtive glance in her direction. Iolanthe has been sorting and re-sorting the contents of her jewelry box, and Ileia keeps offering earrings the queen rarely wears. When the girl suggests her engagement rubies—which  _ are  _ her favorites, but completely wrong for her gown today—she decides she’s had enough.

“Put those away,” she snaps, “I want the golden bees.”

Silence, then, and a confirmation of her suspicions. 

“Your Majesty,” Ileia begins, but Attolia holds up a hand. 

“How long?”

Her attendants have perfected the art of speaking with their eyes, knowing they cannot say such things out loud. “They were in their place last night, Your Majesty,” Phresine says.  _ And no one else has been in these apartments since then. No one could get past the guards.  _ There’s no need to say what they’re all thinking.  _ No one, except…  _

“A different gown, then,” Attolia says when the silence grows brittle enough to shatter. “One to match the rubies from My Lord Attolis.”

* * *

The king is late to breakfast, trailing attendants and unconcern. Of all his lies, this casual indifference gets under her skin the worst; she knows the passion lurking beneath the cool exterior, sees how it matches her own. Neither of them can fully be themselves in front of the court. The masks are there for good reason: the good of the country, the good of the whole peninsula. Still, there are times when she wishes she could let herself react without the entire court hearing of it. Times like now, when Attolis sits and helps himself to bread and smiles at her.

He is wearing her earrings.

“Good morning,” says Eugenides. The golden bees wink against the dark backdrop of his hair, catching red tones from the trim on his coat. His clothes mirror hers, gold with red to her crimson and gold. A fine pair they must look. Certainly they will make a picturesque tableau when she strangles him across the breakfast table. She should commission a portrait.

“I trust you have been busy,” she says instead, “to be so late to breakfast.”

“Oh yes,” he answers, “You would not believe the trouble I had getting dressed today. So many options, none of them quite right.” He studies the cuff of his right sleeve with a critical eye. “Still, I think my attendants did an acceptable job in the end.”

She spares a glance for the attendants, all standing rigid at their posts. They had  _ better  _ be doing a more-than-acceptable job these days; if she ever suspects they aren’t, neither the king’s mercy nor the wrath of her barons will stop her from hanging them.

Attolia raises an eyebrow. “So I see.” She knows he saw that glance, and knows he sees the way her eyes move from the earrings to meet his. “You have some new jewelry.”

“You mean these old things?” Eugenides flicks one of the bees, making the golden wings dance. “I found them lying around.”

Lying around in her  _ jewelry box  _ as he left her bedchamber last night, he means.  _ You can take the Thief out of Eddis,  _ Attolia muses,  _ but not, apparently, out of Attolis.  _ She feels a smile tugging at her lips in spite of her annoyance, which is melting away like snow on the sacred mountain. “You upset my attendants,” she says, leaning close so her words reach only his ears.

“They can handle a little upset.” He leans in too, and there it is: that spark of mischief, so carefully hidden from the public eye. Irene can always find it, hidden beneath layers of kingship. He lets her see it. “And you have to admit, they look good on me.” That smile dares her to admit it, all but challenges her.

“I don’t  _ have  _ to do anything,” she reminds him, softening the words with a teasing edge. And then she leans forward again and closes the gap between them. It’s quick, for a kiss, and an outside observer would consider it chaste and passionless. An outside observer would be wrong. “But they do look good on you. Perhaps better than they do on me.”

His answering grin is unguarded. “I wouldn’t say that. Next time you wear them, we’ll have to compare.”

Irene allows herself a smile. “I expect them back in my jewelry box tonight.”

Eugenides laughs and reaches across the table to take her hand. “Tonight, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Someone in the Queen's Thief discord was talking about these two wearing matching earrings, and for some reason my brain went instead to Gen stealing Irene's earrings and then wearing them. Then I made the mistake of saying "I kinda want to write that fic" and here we are.


End file.
